European capitals are once again gripped by a palpable apprehension, a familiar anxiety that echoes through their history, as Russian President Vladimir Putin appears poised to strike a deal with US President Donald Trump. The overarching fear is not merely of being sidelined, but of a surgical division of the transatlantic alliance that could ultimately grant Moscow precisely what it seeks in Ukraine, leaving Europe to grapple with the profound and unsettling aftermath. It is a moment of deep uncertainty, a juncture where the very fabric of international order feels precariously stretched.
Ahead of the suddenly announced summit in Alaska, a sense of foreboding permeates diplomatic circles. As one European diplomat, speaking on condition of anonymity due to the sensitive nature of the discussions, starkly put it to CNN: “We are at risk of being a footnote in history.” This profound concern stems, in part, from the unsettling lack of transparency surrounding the Kremlin’s proposals to halt the fighting in Ukraine. Vladimir Putin has offered no details, and US envoy Steve Witkoff remained silent after his recent meeting with the Russian leader.
Adding to this pervasive apprehension are President Trump’s own public pronouncements, which have been characterized by a notable ambiguity. Following Witkoff’s departure from Moscow, Trump merely stated: “It’s very complicated. We’re going to get some back, we’re going to get some switched. There will be some swapping of territories, to the betterment of both.” Such a vague outlook, particularly the notion of “the betterment of both,” rings alarm bells across Europe, where there is a strong conviction that a mutually beneficial outcome is profoundly unlikely.
Indeed, there is “zero indication that Putin has shifted an inch on his maximalist demands,” whether these relate to territorial claims or to Ukraine’s future status as a vulnerable entity without security guarantees and with stringent limits on its military capabilities. The European perception, as articulated by the anonymous diplomat, is that “there is no sense in Paris, Berlin or London that seizing someone else’s territory matters to this US administration, and the (Europeans) find that deeply disturbing.” This perceived disregard for established international norms of sovereignty is a core source of European anxiety.
The gravity of the situation compelled the UK, France, Germany, Italy, and the European Union, joined by Poland and Finland, to issue a joint statement on Saturday. Their message was unequivocal: “We remain committed to the principle that international borders must not be changed by force.” This collective declaration underscores Europe’s unwavering commitment to foundational principles of international law, principles that they see as under direct threat from Moscow’s ambitions and potentially from a US-brokered agreement.
Much of the diplomatic activity has revolved around desperately seeking clarity on what might be negotiated. European officials spent a significant portion of the day making their case to US Vice President JD Vance, who was about to commence a vacation in the UK, pressing for insights into the impending summit. This scramble for information highlights the sense of being on the outside, left to guess the terms of a deal that could reshape the continent’s security landscape.
The Institute for the Study of War (ISW), a Washington D.C.-based think-tank, noted that the “Trump Administration has described Russian President Vladimir Putin’s reported demands for a ceasefire in Ukraine in four different ways since August 6.” Despite this varied framing, a consistent thread emerges across all versions: Putin will demand that Ukrainian forces withdraw from all parts of the Donetsk region they still hold, including substantial cities like Slovyansk, Kramatorsk, and Kostyantynivka.
This demand, if conceded, would force Ukraine to abandon its “fortress belt,” described by ISW as “the main fortified defensive line in Donetsk Oblast since 2014.” Such a move would leave Ukraine dangerously exposed to future aggression, a point echoed by Mick Ryan, who tracks the Ukrainian conflict in his Futura Doctrina blog. He asserted on Sunday that “Ukraine, more than anyone, understands that ceded territory would then be used as the launch pad for future Russian aggression,” a chilling echo of historical precedents.
The parallels with the Munich Agreement of 1938 are indeed striking, serving as a stark reminder of the dangers of appeasement. Even after the Nazi invasion of Czechoslovakia, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain famously quoted Hitler as assuring him: “This is the last territorial claim which I have to make in Europe.” For many Europeans, the fear is that history might tragically repeat itself, with dire consequences for the continent’s security and stability.
Beyond Donetsk, uncertainties persist regarding Putin’s broader territorial aspirations. It remains unknown whether he will insist on Russia being ceded control of Kherson and Zaporizhzhia, two other Ukrainian regions whose regional capitals are still firmly in Ukrainian hands. Alternatively, he might accept a freeze along the current frontlines in these regions, a scenario complicated by the fact that parts of these lines run through open countryside, making monitoring a formidable challenge.
Another critical unknown revolves around Putin’s potential demand that Ukraine officially recognize Moscow’s sovereignty over Crimea, illegally annexed in 2014. And if such a demand were made, what, if anything, would Moscow offer in return? Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has already unequivocally stated that the Ukrainian constitution explicitly prohibits giving up any of its territory, setting a clear red line.
For Europeans, the sequence of events is crucial. They firmly regard a ceasefire as the indispensable precondition for any discussions about territory. As European leaders stated on Saturday, “The current line of contact should be the starting point of negotiations.” This emphasis reflects a deep-seated concern that premature territorial concessions would legitimize Russia’s aggression and undermine Ukraine’s sovereign integrity.
Furthermore, there is a lingering question over whether the Kremlin would agree to some form of European “reassurance force” to guarantee a ceasefire. All indications to date suggest that Russia would not permit any NATO member to contribute to such a force, complicating the prospect of credible security guarantees. European leaders have stressed the necessity of “robust and credible security guarantees that enable Ukraine to effectively defend its sovereignty and territorial integrity,” a sentiment that, despite their efforts, may ultimately prove to be “whistling in the wind.”
The deep-seated frustration felt by Europeans has been vividly articulated by Rym Momtaz of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. She observed that “since his inauguration in January, the Europeans have bought unlimited passes for the Trump roller coaster ride. They have climbed on, strapped themselves in, and regularly screamed out in terror but failed to get off.” This reflects a perceived paralysis, a consequence of Europe’s historical reliance on American leadership and its failure to cultivate a strategic identity independent of US influence, a path French President Emmanuel Macron has advocated for eight years.
Reduced to pleading and guessing, Europeans find themselves largely on the sidelines, despite their ardent desire to support and protect Ukraine. EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas convened a meeting of EU foreign ministers to discuss “Russia’s aggression against Ukraine,” and stated emphatically on Sunday that “any deal between the US and Russia must have Ukraine and the EU included, for it is a matter of Ukraine’s and the whole of Europe’s security.” German Chancellor Friedrich Merz echoed this sentiment, declaring: “We cannot accept that territorial issues between Russia and America are discussed or even decided over the heads of Europeans and Ukrainians.”
To Mick Ryan, the former Australian general who meticulously tracks the conflict, Europe’s current predicament is far more hazardous than it ought to be, largely because, in his view, the US itself lacks a coherent Ukraine strategy. He describes Washington’s approach as characterized by “anger, impulses, social media posts, multiple course-changes in direction and an underpinning desire from Trump to win the Nobel Peace Prize.” This perceived lack of strategic clarity from its primary ally exacerbates Europe’s anxieties.
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, for his part, has maintained a diplomatic but firm stance. While expressing readiness to work with President Trump, he has unequivocally quashed the idea of any territorial concessions. On Thursday, he stated that Ukraine would not accept a peace deal negotiated solely by the United States and Russia. He found it “not pleasant” that Trump spoke with Putin before contacting Kyiv, calling into question the long-held Western policy of “nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine.”
EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas has warned specifically against a “quick fix” or a “dirty deal” to end the war, reiterating that Europe and Ukraine must be at the table. She stressed that “any deal behind our backs will not work,” and that “appeasement also always, always fails.” This firm position underlines the European resolve to continue backing Ukraine, regardless of external pressures.
The US Defence Secretary, Pete Hegseth, has signaled a dramatically different approach to any future security arrangements. He informed NATO allies in Brussels that European and non-European troops – notably, not Americans – would be expected to police any agreement between Ukraine and Russia. Furthermore, he delivered a brutal blow to Ukraine’s aspirations for NATO membership, stating that Washington did “not believe that NATO membership for Ukraine is a realistic outcome.” While a NATO official later clarified that the alliance’s position had not changed, the initial statement sent a clear message about US intentions regarding military commitments in the region.
Lithuanian Defence Minister Dovilė Šakalienė highlighted Europe’s substantial financial contribution, noting that Europe provided Ukraine with US$125 billion in aid last year, compared to the US$88 billion from the United States. “I think we earned a place at the table,” she stated, underscoring the continent’s significant investment and stake in the conflict. For the Baltic counterparts, situated directly on Russia’s borders, the turn of events is particularly alarming, presenting a stark choice: to succumb to the illusion of a Trump-Putin solution, which she termed a “deadly trap,” or to fully embrace Europe’s own economic, financial, and military capacity.
The challenge, however, is that ramping up defense industries, investing in new technology, and recruiting personnel are not overnight processes. As Éric Trappier, head of French defence giant Dassault, observed last year, “Europe believes all of a sudden that working on defence is a good thing… Between that realisation and the reality of building a European defence industry it’s going to take many years and even many decades.” This sentiment was echoed by NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte, who lamented, “We are not producing enough and this is a collective problem… Russia is producing in three months in ammunition, but the whole of the alliance is producing in a year.”
Compounding these difficulties are the internal challenges within Europe itself, including arcane decision-making processes in Brussels and the expectation of increased defense spending amidst sluggish growth and tight public finances. The legacy of defense cutbacks that followed the evaporation of the Soviet bloc in 1989 is only now beginning to be reversed, a process that demands substantial and sustained commitment.
Volodymyr Zelensky has also highlighted the significant disparity in manpower, noting that Ukraine and Europe together possess fewer men under arms than Russia. He has expressed deep skepticism about the efficacy of a peacekeeping force without American involvement, stating, “I don’t think any UN troops or anything like that have ever really helped anyone,” and emphasizing that without America, effective security guarantees are “impossible.” Instead of a contingent of maybe 5,000 peacekeepers, Zelensky believes there would need to be 100,000 as part of a “deterrent package.”
Some European ministers harbor profound fears that Trump fundamentally misunderstands Putin. German defense minister Boris Pistorius articulated this concern, expressing regret over the new administration’s swift removal of Ukraine’s prospective NATO membership from the table. He added a stark warning: “Putin is constantly provoking the West and attacking us again. It would be naive to believe the threat would actually diminish after such a peace agreement.” This conviction reflects a deep-seated belief that appeasement only emboldens Moscow.
Moscow, unsurprisingly, has reveled in Europe’s perceived relegation to a bystander role. Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov, responding to a question from CNN, quipped that “many in the West, including the leaders of the European Union, were shocked when a simple, normal conversation took place between two polite, educated individuals.” This thinly veiled taunt underscores the Kremlin’s satisfaction at what it perceives as a deepening fissure within the transatlantic alliance, a divide it has long sought to exploit.
In this precarious moment, Europeans are inevitably glancing back to existential junctures in their modern history. The Munich Agreement of 1938, which gave Adolf Hitler free rein to continue Nazi aggression against unprepared allies, looms large as a cautionary tale. Equally resonant is the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, which brutally suppressed the Prague Spring – an effort at liberalization that, much like Ukraine’s tilt towards the EU, was seen by Moscow as a direct threat to its dominance.
During that era, US Senator Henry Jackson told NATO parliamentarians that while the value of the Atlantic Alliance was undisputed in the US, there was “a widespread feeling in my country that so many Europeans were less concerned with the security of their homelands than we were.” He further observed that “to many Americans it has seemed that a prosperous Western Europe was not making a reasonably proportionate contribution to the common defence effort.” His words, “I am convinced that the future vitality of the alliance depends in very large measure on the degree and quality of European efforts to keep NATO strong,” resonate powerfully today, as the Trump administration presses for European allies to commit even more significant portions of their GDP to defense.
Yet, this period has also served as a profound wake-up call, catalyzing a significant reversal of decades of military underfunding across the continent. Lithuania, for instance, is planning to lay mines on its bridges to Russia, preparing to detonate them should Kremlin tanks attempt to cross. In the nearby Baltic Sea, NATO ships are actively hunting Russia’s so-called “Shadow Fleet,” accused of severing undersea communications cables. Concurrently, there are ambitious plans to construct a vast missile defense system across Europe, akin to Israel’s “Iron Dome,” but explicitly designed to intercept rockets launched by Moscow.
Beyond military hardware, the mindset across Europe has shifted dramatically. Sweden updated its “If Crisis or War Comes” booklet, distributing 5 million copies to households. Lieutenant General Ben Hodges, former commander of the U.S. Army in Europe, notes that countries in Eastern Europe “know that this is for real, because they live there.” President Emmanuel Macron of France has termed Trump’s second term a “wake-up call” for the continent, and EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas has unequivocally stated that “Russia poses an existential threat to our security today, tomorrow and for as long as we underinvest in our defense.”
This newfound resolve is translating into tangible action. Most of Europe’s major powers are now meeting the NATO guideline of 2% of GDP spent on defense, a commitment that began to accelerate after Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, and notably intensified under Trump’s prodding. Lithuania, particularly vulnerable due to its proximity to Russia, intends to elevate its defense spending to an unprecedented 5% to 6% of its GDP in the coming years, significantly surpassing even Washington’s current proportional contribution.
The full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 has further concentrated minds. The European Union has allocated 500 million euros to double shell ammunition production to 2 million units per year. Furthermore, 22 countries have joined the European Sky Shield Initiative, a continent-wide missile defense system designed specifically to protect against Russian attacks. A spokesperson for the bloc, when asked about preparations for a worst-case scenario of war with Russia, stated: “Europe must be prepared for the most extreme military contingencies… Put simply: to prevent war we need to spend more. If we wait more, it’ll cost us more.”
In western Scandinavia, Norway has updated its emergency preparedness booklet, advising citizens on stockpiling essentials for “acts of war.” Swedish church authorities, guided by the armed forces, are actively seeking additional cemetery space should conflict reach their shores. Even Germany, a traditionally more pacifist nation, has committed approximately 100 million euros to reinstate public sirens that had been removed after the fall of the Iron Curtain, a symbolic yet potent gesture of a changing threat perception.
Yet, for all these efforts, some observers believe Europe is still not doing enough. Keir Giles, a leading defense analyst at Chatham House, contends that Western European countries like Germany, France, and the United Kingdom have only committed “small percentage uplifts to defense budgets, which is nothing like the transformative investment” seen in Eastern Europe. He suggests that “countries further away are still pretending that war is something that happens to other people,” highlighting a persistent psychological divide across the continent. This is further complicated by the rise of populist parties in Europe, often blending anti-immigration stances with a softer, even friendly, approach towards Russia, potentially undermining a unified front.
The stakes could not be higher. Europe finds itself at a pivotal historical moment, navigating a complex geopolitical landscape where its sovereignty and security hang in the balance. The prospect of a deal struck over its head, without its active participation, serves as a searing reminder of the urgent need for a more robust and unified European voice on the world stage. As the Estonian foreign minister, Margus Tsahkna, powerfully declared, “If borders can be changed by force, none are safe. Sovereignty and territorial integrity are the cornerstones of global stability. We will not reward aggression — not in Ukraine, not anywhere.” The continent stands poised, determined to shape its own destiny in an increasingly turbulent world, understanding that “anybody who isn’t worried hasn’t been paying attention.” Its future, indeed, depends on it.
